


Sleep Well

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Hands holding, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, Touch, bus ride, you know where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 18:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale only touched to blend in, to be part of the human society. Crowley cherished those stolen moments.





	Sleep Well

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Ineffable Husbands Week's](https://ineffablehusbandsweek.tumblr.com/post/187228656901/ineffable-husbands-week-and-nsfw-ineffable) Day 4: senses
> 
> Was I writing this when I saw Neil's tweet about the ineffable husbands holding hands at some point in GO? Yes. Did that decide of the end of this? Oh, totally.

It started as a form of greeting. Demons and angels didn't usually salute their peers in any distinctive way: they popped in and talked. It was as simple as that. Demons and Angels didn't greet each other at all.

Crowley and Aziraphale were, however, the only two permanent demon and angel on Earth. No one except the other could understand them. They were not human, but they were not entirely demon or angel anymore. They still wield the same powers and had the same responsibilities, but they also ate, drunk, slept… They overly interacted with humans daily, which was usually not in the job's description. Crowley and Aziraphale were something else.

So it shouldn't be surprising that their greetings would be different. So far, it had been pretty distant. An acknowledgement of the other's name, if anything. They didn't see each other much in the first three thousand years. Then, it started with a nod, with a name said a bit more kindly than usual, with a relieved sigh when the other appeared, with an additional smile that didn't use to be there…

The first time they touched was for the arrangement. It felt right, to offer a hand. Aziraphale very hesitantly reached out to take it. It was so formal, yet Crowley felt his whole body lean into the contact, already looking for more of the electricity that coursed through his veins as their hands naturally clasp together, as if they belonged there. If he hadn't realised it earlier, Crowley would have marked this moment as the beginning of his uncontrolled attraction to Aziraphale. But he had been orbiting around him for long enough to have realised that he didn't want to live in a world without him.

They went through the centuries and followed some of the greetings trends. They kissed on the cheek, kissed on the hand, hugged, shook hands… They didn't talk about it. There was nothing to talk about, they were simply blending in, doing what society expected them to do when they greeted each other. Crowley treasured those moments.

He treasured even more the accidental touches. He still held close to his heart their dance together at a Victorian ballroom, where they had danced to talk privately without people hearing them. It had felt new and strange, but so good. Crowley's dress was brushing his ankles as they danced, a bit clumsily. Aziraphale's hands on his back was holding him strongly, and maybe it lingered a bit longer than necessary when they finished. Their eyes locked a bit longer than necessary, too.

Crowley fondly remembered fingers brushing his shoulders, his arms, his hands. Never a confident grip, but stolen, light touches here and there, scattered through the centuries.

People usually stayed cleared of Crowley. Except when kids couldn’t read him properly – or, say, when he was the nanny of a very non-antichrist kid – he didn’t have any physical contact with anyone. He craved contact with Aziraphale.

And when Aziraphale willingly and purposefully gave in, taking his hand while nothing forced him to do so – not because they were greeting each other in public, not because they had to dance to keep a discussion secret, not because cultural codes expected them to behave a certain way, not because they needed to blend in – Crowley stared at their fingers, naturally falling into place. Like two pieces of a puzzle. An extremely easy puzzle with only two pieces, but one that had taken so many years to complete.

They were not sure of the consequences their actions would have on them. Heaven and Hell could fall – or rise – on their heads at any time now. Holding hands wouldn’t upset them more than they already were. 

Deep down, Crowley was terrified. He didn’t want Aziraphale to be taken away from him. So he squeezed back, showing Aziraphale that he was here. He wouldn’t let go. He didn’t want to. Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley stubbornly stared at the road instead of them.

Even if he had been craving to be touched like that by Aziraphale for so long, it felt too much. He wasn’t sure he could look at the angel and not discorporate on the spot. He watched the road, and let the bus ride rock him to a light sleep. He still needed to concentrate on the bus’s destination, but he had been concentrating all day not to be burnt alive, not to let the Bentley obey the rules of combustion. He had stopped time, too.

He was tired. He was so tired, had been tired for such a long time. 

“I’ll make him drop us at the flat,” he heard Aziraphale’s voice say after a while. Not _your _flat, not drop _you_. _Us_. 

Their hands were still linked together.

Crowley hummed as an answer. He had meant to say something coherent, but nothing more came out.

He felt fingers on his hair, and almost opened his eyes to check who was touching him, but the warmth was the same he could feel between their hands, so he let the fingers guide his head against a comfortable shoulder. He wanted to say something, he was probably supposed to say something, but his eyes were heavy, so heavy.

“Sleep well,” Aziraphale whispered.

Lips brushed Crowley’s forehead, and his cheeks reddened at the feeling. His face felt warm, especially where he had been kissed, and he leaned a bit more against the shoulder as he let sleep embrace him.

He wasn’t sure whether he had dreamt of it, in a lazy pre-sleep haze, but when he woke up again, he could still feel Aziraphale’s hand on his own.


End file.
